"I hit every fucking place in Eastgate Mall. Old Navy has one sales job open -- about a thousand people were there to apply."

"Looks like another tour at Mickey Dees for you!" Tina said smugly.

Margie stirred her coffee idly.

"So what's it like?" she asked. Were there a lot of naked people? Do the guys' cocks stay hard? Were people fucking in the woods?"

Tina blushed.

"Jeez, Margie, it's not like that. I mean, you know, it's more like the country club. Swimming pool. Volleyball. Tennis courts. Things like that. Anyway, it doesn't open for another week. I didn't see any members"

Margie raised an eybrow.

"All kinds of physical activities, huh?"

Tina sighed.

"You're hopeless! Besides, it's a clothing optional resort. You don't have to take your clothes off. I'll probably get a couple more bikinis."

"Oh, yeah right, sweetie. They hired you for your IQ. I'm sure the guy took a look at this little honey-blonde, blue-eyed dreamboat and thought, Hey, this chick will look great in a two-piece! Face it, doll, he's probably thinking about you and strokin' his poke right now."

"Margie! It's not like that!!"

"Okay, okay. So it's scout camp with no place to pin the merit badges. What are you going to be doing at Blistering Pines -- besides giving head to the camp counselor?"

"It's Whispierinig Pines, Margie. I start in the cafe until I can --"

"Wait a minute! You're flipping burgers naked at a pervert palace? Jeez, Marie! At least I get an ugly blue uniform at Mickey Dees!"

"But there are other things, too!" Tina was defensive.

"Do me a favor, sweetheart," Margie laughed. "Wear something on top. I hate to think of hot grease splattering all over those apple-tits!"

"Okay, laugh, Marge -- at least I'll get six hundred a week while you're getting six bucks a hour to say, wanna hot apple pie with that?"

Margie's latte stopped halfway to her mouth.

"Six hundred a week?"

"I'll be lying at the pool in the evening while you're explaining for the twentieth time why the milkshake machine doesn't work!"

"Wait a minute. Did you say six hundred a week?"

"Yeah, that's right. Maybe if they let you table dance at Mickey Dees you can make three hundred."

"Tina, six hundred a week is more than seventh thousand dollars for the summer!"

"Yeah. I know -- I got C's in math."

"That's tuition, books and fuck-around money left over."

"Yeah."

Margie stared at Tina for a long moment.

"Do they have anymore openings?" she asked.

Laci Roosevelt leaned back in her chair and stretched long legs over the metal desk. Muscled thighs bulged from a very tight, very short black skirt.

"Mr. Sam picked a real pair this time," she said.

Tina and Margie stood before her in tee-shirts and shorts, their hands primly behind their backs.

"You two got your health department papers?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Yes, ma'am."

The girls fished in their handbags and put the papers on the desk.

"Either of you got experience," Laci asked as she scanned the papers.

"Two summers under the arches," Margie said.

"Three summers with the king," Tina said.

"Well, it ain't that frantic here. No excuse for fuck-ups, if you get my drift," Laci said.

"Yes, ma'am."

The girls nodded.

The woman swung her legs from the desk and rose from her chair.

And rose.

The girls' eyes widened.

Laci Roosevelt was six feet tall, black as the telephone on the desk, and had legs that made Tina Turner's look like soda straws. A taut six-pack peeked out from under a black hammock full of ebony breasts. She walked to a metal cabinet.

"I'll get your uniforms," she said.

Tina looked at Margie and smiled.

Laci tossed two baseball caps on the desk.

"There," she said.

The girls stared at the caps. Each had Whispering Pines embroideried on the front.

"Where's the rest?" Margie asked.

"There ain't no rest."

"Mr. Samuels said this was a clothing optional resort," Tina said.

"That's right -- and I opt that you ain't gonna wear no clothes," Laci replied.

"You mean, we've gotta work -- naked?" Tina said, not taking her eyes from the caps.

"Nekkid as September Morn, bare as the day you were born. Look, girlfriends, if I wanted a Today's Gourmet award-winning chef I'd hired a fat gay guy with a prick the size of a cocktail sausage. Hot Twat is not on the menu, but it's what drags 'em in."

Tina and Margie stared at the caps, then at each other.

"You creampuffs in or out?" Laci asked.

Neither girl said anything.

"Tips is real good," Laci said.

"Well --" Margie said.

Laci slapped the desk.

"Good! Now, keep those pretty locks tucked under the caps. The health department keeps a close eye on us here, if you know what I mean."